sketchablepaperfold

an aiming to be designer, with the soul of a writer

Tag: thoughts

About Emptiness

“Stolen images. Can you picture it, the life we could have lived?”

Today, I feel quite empty, and I don’t know why. I’ve looked at the calendar and strived to find a memory, a glimpse of any image, word or moment that could make all of this understandable. Still, I found nothing.

College related stuff overwhelm me so much that I don’t even have the strength to write, to think. No, nowadays, thinking is way too hard, and I deliberately choose not to do it. Well, that actually might be the reason why I feel so bad today. Yes, it makes sense.

Emptiness, such a cutting word. Each and every letter echo in my hollow being, hurting more and more.

I should be hysterical. Yes, I should, but I’m not.

Last week I had my first show. My pieces were shown for the first time on a catwalk, and it felt so right, so right I could simply remember of all the moments I thought about giving up Fashion to dedicate to something else, and to thank everything for deciding not to give up.

And it felt great until the moment I realised that no one I invited was there. And then, it all become empty. Well, not that empty, since my best friends where there, and arrived in the exact moment I got more anxious. Of course, I couldn’t do anything but to almost throw myself in the arms of the one that can, actually, make me feel calmer.

But everyone else was missing, including the ones I lost along the way and, exactly for that, I didn’t even invite – specially D and B, whose absence still bothers me. That and the lack of a boyfriend, of the usual sense of family, and so on.

It feels bad, and I feel terrible. And yes, I think it’s worse because I’ve done – as usual – everything to cover it, to deny that I was hurt, injured, and now, I just don’t seem to be able to keep with that strategy.

Last year, I actually found time to write down my thoughts and feelings. Now, I don’t do it anymore. I don’t have time or courage to do it, to put words on the paper, giving them a tangible existence. It’s always easier to think I just need to go out, dance and forget it all, and that has been exactly what I’ve been doing in the last months.

To be honest, college is going pretty well, but with everything else, it feels like nothing, as if it didn’t matter at all. Yet, I know it’s important, because since a few days before the show, I was truly happy, bright and shiny – something I haven’t felt for a long, long, long time.

And today – well, to be honest, it started yesterday – , I know that I need to work, and I don’t feel like I’ll be able to do it. I’ve been delaying my own deadlines since last friday, and now, I can’t do it anymore.

Oddly, I feel better now. I feel like I’ll actually succeed at listening to my work’s soundtrack, and to work in a productive way.

[Yet, being myself, is it that odd that I’m better now than in the moment I began?!]

The First ’12 Post

Well, to say the truth, I planned to say goodbye to 2011 and hello! to 2012 right here, at WordPress. Yet, of course, I lost all of my ideas for the last & first writing moment of the year.

I can’t even believe that’s already 2012. I don’t feel like the year has changed. Instead, I feel like this is a typical saturday night spent at home, while my mom is asleep and my dad has just went to bed. I haven’t felt that emotion on the last seconds of 2011, my heart almost skipping a beat while getting closer to 2012. I haven’t seen all my future in those 10 seconds. To be honest, I haven’t seen nothing at all – I was just staring at the numbers as someone who sees the numbers of that unknown lottery that no one bought and had no prize. They were just numbers, and not the numbers that would switch the year on every electronic device we’ve got.

I really felt that Christmas had been oddly calm. Of course, all the mess came together on New Year’s Eve.

I believe that this was, possible, the weirdest NYE I’ve ever lived – at least, it was the one when I truly felt I should be somewhere else, with my friends, instead of being at home, by the fireplace. And that caught me in such an overwhelming way that I lost all the fun, the emotion and so on related to this night. Oh, communication, why are so hard to handle?!

I wish I knew what to say. I wish I could work, or sleep, or write, but I don’t seem to find the strength and/or the words to do it. I wish this was somewhere else, and I could just stare outside without a single word on my mind, or simply melt into the floor.

Or, better, I wish this night could have been what I wanted it be, and I could be on a nice dress & heels, with my best friends and, of course, R., in our almost hometown [the city where we study and absolutely love], having the greatest night ever and, of course, the best New Year’s Eve and beggining of New Year ever.

Oh, how I wish everything could be simpler and I could be there.

[Does that even count as a New Year Wish?! ]

William or Words To My Beloved

I wish I would know how to start this, my love. I wish I would.

I wish I had you right next to me, instead of needing to write this – that’s the truth, the actual one. The truth that holds no lie, no omission – nothing but all I’ve always hide and denied.

I miss you, William – more than words can describe. It’s been a long, long time since the last time I saw you; since the last time your smile brightened my existence just for being around; since your eyes caught mine and I felt so embarrassed I had to look away, fearing that you could notice the brightness I wasn’t allowed to avoid.

I wish I had been allowed to say how much I care for you, that I didn’t have to restrain myself every time I wanted to be in your arms.

Oh William, how I wish things could have been different – you’ve no idea of how much.

But no, I can’t stay, love, even though it breaks me into small pieces. I can’t stand the idea of giving you what I’ve got, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ever got to hurt you. I just can’t, William.

Of course I don’t seem to be able to forgive myself for this, for not being good enough to have you, for being broken and needing time to figure out who I am, to mend and move on.

I’m so sorry, William, so sorry. Specially because I know you’d say you’d help me to find all the answers I need, and I simply can’t take that offer. I can’t put you into the situation I’ve already handled – trying to heal someone who needs time and reflection.

Don’t even try to think I don’t love you, William. Please, don’t – I loved you since the first time you smiled at me, a long, long time ago. And that’s exactly why I don’t want to cause you pain.

Still, I miss you. And, to be honest, if I could, I’d go back in time and tell you about my feelings while you were near me, while, in a certain way, I had you. But no: one, I can’t turn back time; and two, I never told you because I was afraid to lose you.

Anyway, I ended up loosing you. And now, you’re gone without a clear reason, without a word. Now, I’m alone, missing you despite having figured out I need to be on my own to pick up the pieces and rebuilt my existence.

I never thought I’d lose you, love. Not like this. Not when I thought everything would change, that I’d feel whole again. Not when I had finally found exactly what I’ve always searched. Not when you looked at me that way and I knew, I truly knew you loved me back. Not when I tried to extend each and every single farewell. Not when I wanted to be in your arms, endlessly. Not when we had such a beautiful, tender connection.

I never thought it would end up like this, the way I’d never imagine, the non obvious way, the one I’d never saw coming closer.

We had everything to be great – if I wasn’t that broken and needed to be certain about my own choices. We had, not anymore.

At this time, I can only wish that, one day, when I’m completely aware of myself, it could be different, and we’re finally allowed to be with each other, like we truly wanted to.

In the meantime, I’ll be away.

I’ll miss you, love. Everyday. But it’s the best thing to do, and the best time to do it. I need to clear my mind. I just couldn’t delay it anymore.

First and foremost, I need to know who I am, what I want to do, where do I see myself in a few years, which are my dreams and fight for them with all I’ve got, with all my soul.

Then, I’ll feel good enough to return.

My Very Own Hard Way to Self-Forgiveness

I’m concluding that self-forgiveness is quite the hardest way to forgive. I mean, when someone you love does something “wrong”, you scream, you cry, you feel disappointed; but then, you get over it, you forgive the person and life goes on. You know that people do not act according to your own principles, you try to grasp that concept and try to reach the stage of acceptance.

Nevertheless, when it comes to self-forgiveness, the whole picture becomes worse. You have no one to blame, but yourself. You can’t use the strategy of understanding and accepting differences. You just can’t.

Yesterday, I was wandering through my ancient journals, trying to find any words, reflections about the reason that led me to choose the Arts field, instead of another one. I truly believed that, at some point, I would have written something about it. I’ve read 6th and 7th grade ones – which had five pages, each – and found nothing. Then, I started reading the 8th grade journal, the most complete one.

It was my final hope, since I haven’t found anything before, and I just returned to journaling during the summer after 9th grade (time when the choice was already made, and which I relatively remember). After reading a few pages and finding nothing on the subject, I decided to use the finder, and search the word Art. Again, I found nothing.

In the end, all I could read were silly things. No reflection, no thoughts on the future, no writing about stuff worth reading years later. All of those pages were filled with nonsense according to the following scheme:

Day 1 – I’m so in love with Subject A. I truly hope that we’re meant to be!

Day 2 – I’ve been talking a lot with Subject B. I think I might have a crush on him.

Day 3 – OMG, I’m so into Subject A!

Day 4Subject C asked me on a date. I don’t know if I should go, since I’m completely into Subject B!

Day 5 – Date with Subject C was great! I think I’m in love with him.

And this crap goes on and on and on during… let’s say: four years, I guess.

The world can’t have the smallest idea of how bad I felt when I read those pages. I had the vague idea that my life had been relatively normal, and that I had written something worth my own reading. After all, it couldn’t be further from what I thought!

This is actually my point with self-forgiveness. It’s been four years since I left 9th grade and all it implied. Now, I had no idea of who I was, back then. In the end, my idea of myself was completely wrong.

My current idea involved the existence of a brain, and not such hideous stuff! I had no idea that I was so confuse, always changing my “feelings” [honestly think they were only sensations, but ok]. I would never think that I was so in and out of love that easily.

Honestly, it all made me think about the present. I’ve recently found out that I wasn’t trying to do the right thing. I’ve already introduced you to B, the one I’ve been liking since almost two years ago.

To make to long story short, I had a massive heartbreak a few months before meeting B [and when I say massive, I really mean it. I’m totally aware that it’s not exaggeration] . For that exact reason, I spent half-year denying my feeling, saying that I was only trying to get him back. After a long time of reflection, I concluded that I was ready to start over.

Yet, recently I started to feel nostalgic, and missing all the things I had with him [despite he was not even close to be the right person for me]. It took a while to figure out that I was, truly, missing all the concept I had given him, since I was completely devoted to him. Of course, it’s hard to heal from that sort of injury. And that was the moment when I noticed that besides liking B, I was actually trying to replace what I had lost, and to find someone who could actually be my home again.

Wrong, wrong move. Silly Amy. You’re so silly!

In spite of trying to be fine on my own, I was willing to head back to a relationship [with someone who doesn’t deserve to be mistaken and broken by me, let’s say. Just thinking about hurting him breaks my heart]  Now, just imagine how insane I felt when I finally realized that’s exactly what I’ve done my entire life. It simply ruined the image I had of myself. Worse, I could even try to accept doing this at 12 or 13. But doing this at my age, nowadays, even in an unconscious way [which is the case] makes me sick.

Forgiveness of our very own mistakes. Self-forgiveness. Gosh, it is hard. The only thing I can do now it’s to accept that, and stop feeling “attracted” to everyone that’s nice to me. It’s so sick, and I don’t like it. Not at all. I wonder how I spent so long doing that, without even noticing. Sometimes ignorance is considered a blessing. This time, I’m absolutely sure it was awful.

Hurray, Amy. You really screwed up. You’ve finally hit the guilt course, and the collision was a lot harder than you expected.

[I wonder how will I cope]

Old Nostalgia

I usually tend to feel older than what I actually am. This is just one of those days.

I was just sneaking around some facebook pages [I guess this is the time when I confess that I’ve got a life, and I’m not addicted to facebook. Thanks for asking] and it just hit me, without a decent, proper warning. I was watching some photos of a friend, taken about one or two years ago, while we were still attending to the same school, and the feeling installed in my heart.

I caught myself missing all those insane things we use to do, the times she lost herself eating the cookies I had bake, the times she sincerely hugged me. Gosh, she was quite a girl. Pretty, clever and fearless to say what she wanted to say.

I went to college, and, obviously, we went apart. Yet, I miss that little girl, I really do.

While I was looking at the pictures, I felt this enormous fear of letting life behind – because, sometimes, I feel that’s exactly what I’m doing, day after day. I feel like I’m missing all the things I shouldn’t; loosing my supposed to be friends and the people I talk to; feeling like, in certain moments, I’ve got no one to talk to.

I see everyone else being only normal creatures, going out and keeping in touch with old friends. In the other hand, I look around myself, and it’s like everyone is going away.

I do feel old, nostalgic and the like. Well, some people say they get party blues, and I’m just like them. Furthermore, I get vacation blues. Quite unpleasant, ha?!

To say the truth, I don’t even know where else I should head this post. It seems like my little boat decided to stop in the middle of the ocean, and I decided to quit rowing. So, I’ll just enjoy the view, and try to clean my head. I truly need that. Yet, I’m afraid I’m not able to do it.

Personal Thoughts About A Girl Named Amy

There are things that I, honestly, can’t avoid.

It’s obvious that no one needed me to come here and read an entire post just to grasp something that’s being broadcast, all over the world, about another girl named Amy [and I’m saying another, since I’m not talking about myself]

I absolutely won’t try to build a replica of an episode of biography channel, since I don’t even know much about her story.

All I know – and it is not much – I’ve learnt from her songs and, I must confess, I’m only familiar with a few.

She was the kind of person that actually felt what she sang, and anyone with just a bit of sensibility would understand it. Amy, I think, didn’t write just to make money, but because she needed to write. And she had the sort of song that everyone sings along, even with the radio.

It takes a lot of courage to tell the world what she said on Rehab. Honestly, I’m quite sure I wouldn’t be brave enough, if I was in her place. In the end, she put the entire world singing Rehab, which was, clearly, her story.

I must confess that I enjoyed her songs, and loved the “happy” ones, like Valerie. There was this almost childish smile that caught everyone that heard or sang Valerie, and I got that smile over and over again.

Yet, something really, really different came to me when I heard Back To Black. Not the first time I heard it – since, then, I didn’t get half of her words – but after reading the lyrics. The moment I heard that song knowing exactly what she was saying, I felt a different, particular emotion.

I truly knew what she sang and, again, I must confess that Back To Black was my song, the one that could have been, easily, written by me. Not because I liked it, but because I knew exactly what those words meant – I had been there. She sang my life too, in that song.

And that feeling made me say what I’ve already said: that she needed to write, just the way that every writer needs. We live for writing, we only live with writing, we can’t even think properly without writing [because, without knowing exactly how, this huge lump installs itself in the throat, in the heart, in each and every single part of our being, until we write]

When a person truly feels something, and writes about it, the reader gets the whole thing, the whole feeling. And that happened to me with Back To Black. It only takes a few words, a few notes to give me goose bumps and, quite often, to lead me to tears.

A song! it’s only a song!, would those blessed [or not] insensitive creatures say. Yet, for me, it’s not a song. It’s a story, a statement, just like every other thing that wasn’t written with hands and/or brain, but which every letter that was given to the world came from the heart.

And yes, it was simply a personal review that a supposed Amy made about another Amy. Blame me for not researching at wikipedia, and not googling a single thing I wrote.

The Past and the Future Still Enjoy Haunting the Present

Living in the past. Here is something we’ve all been told not to do. Yet, honestly, what do we do besides that?!

We’re always stuck with what we’ve done, always. What you did yesterday, built the day you’re having now, and what you’re doing now will determine how tomorrow will be. So, there is no visible way that lead us to live anywhere but in the present – at least, for a person like me.

The past is always there, haunting you, waiting for you to blink an eye and get distracted. Then, it’ll just jump above you and throw you at the floor. Or – even worse, I guess – it’ll guide you to the closest window, to watch the sunset, sigh and feel the loneliest creature above Earth.

Someone decided to create something which is – sometimes – mean: memories. Those beings which, sometimes, gently offer a tender smile to your lips but, to make it a fair game, they’ll also provide you serious heartaches. For creatures like me, doctors invented – or simply discovered – the broken heart disease. Therefore, at least, I’ll be “allowed” to say that I’ve got a heartache, so yes, I love it! [I’d like a bit of sarcasm, please!]

A person will think about the past – at least, about what she did yesterday. But the catch is that yesterday is so close, that it seems to have happened one hour ago. Curious thing, the psychological view of time, ha?! And, of course, a person will always think about the future: what will we have for lunch or dinner? What will I tell at the meeting, next week? What will I tell him, tomorrow?

See, our notion of tomorrow is quite similar with the idea we’ve got of yesterday: they both seem too close to be denied, labeled as something different from the present moment, and we just accept them as part of the family, as someone who’s sleeping in our guest room. We nod, we smile, and we resign.

People often say that we must live the present, and consider it as a gift. I’m just deducing that, when we’re thinking about one hour ago, or ten minutes from now, we’re not living the present. We’re just stuck at what we did, and what we’ll do, but haven’t done yet. The curious thing is that I tend to take my thought utopias about the future – even that future that will happen tomorrow – as granted, just as if they were actual truths, or better, memories.

For example, right now, I’m not living the present. I’m just here, writing, settling down my ideas, thinking. In that very moment, I presume, a voice will rise and say But, my dear, thinking is a way of living. And then, I’ll just be quite rude and disagree. No, I don’t think that thinking is a way of living. It’s just a way for a person – in this case, me – to feel better about the whole outlook, and try not to notice everything else, happening around me.

[Sometimes, I wish I could scream, and throw a few people a bucket of truths – so that their eyes opened and they truly could grasp reality – instead of being here, unable to say a thing. I’m truly aware, though, that someday, I’ll just lose my mind, forget everything – what I had; what I could have, but simply don’t; what they think and how they’ll react; and specially, what they’ll think about me, that moment forward – and just say it. Everyone knows that day is coming.]

It’s just like that time I said I’d throw some white ink to this blog. I’ve been willing to do it for a few weeks. A few days after broadcasting I’d re-built the color scheme, I actually did it, and I’m pretty sure it didn’t even took a week.

My Life Could Be A Movie, But I’d Rather Have A Prime Time Series

Here and there, I think that my life would be enough for a movie. Here and there?! Sometimes?! Gosh, what am I saying? I always think that.

However, in the following moment, I grasp reality: three hours would be even less than insignificant, and it wouldn’t even tell a tiny fraction of the story.

No, my life would truly be enough for an entire collection of books, a saga, an actual odyssey of adventures and misadventures transposed from paper to screen film. And it would be broadcast all over the world, so that everyone could enunciate which and how many features of my being, my existence, they’d share.

But it could be better than all of that – since not every movie lasts longer in our memory than the time it takes to reach the bottom of one or two sweet popcorn buckets, or to hear the noise, the attrition between the straw and the ice cubes.

Better and more efficient than being on red carpet once and getting the Oscar for best dramatic movie would be a prime time series. [Yeah, blame me for thinking big!]

Yes, one of those which have countless seasons, which last episodes always end with an intriguing to be continued…

One of those that almost leads the audience to sympathize with the story, because it seems so real and it could happen to anyone [And they wouldn’t know that the story was real and that, in the end of the credits, an any resemblance to real life is not a mere coincidence would be included]

One of those series that in the exact moment that everything seems to be all right, there’s a problem coming, and this scenery would happen over and over again, getting to upset the most insensible ones who, doubtless, would leave the couch with a rude it’s always the same thing! They only do this to increase their ratings!  [Surely they wouldn’t know that lives which, sometimes, look like mexican soap operas actually exist and it’s not all the time they’re solved with a simple channel switch.

It would be great, wouldn’t it?! Oh boy, it would! We all wish we could just switch the program, switch the channel, or even throw the television throughout the window and invest our time in something more useful, profitable and interesting.

They’ll be an amount of poor viewers, those who’d follow the story, my story. At a certain point, they’ll end up feeling just like me. Together, we’d bring companies like Kleenex to the undeniable success;  laugh – perhaps – from nothing at all; appreciate the spring breeze; relish a nice hot chocolate; and tenderly smile hearing ballads – but only the sweet ballads – from Norah Jones.

[Yes, I truly wrote this last sentence hearing Those Sweet Words, one of her sweetest songs, and I just couldn’t avoid smiling]